


my whole body is your home

by imperialhare



Category: Friends at the Table (Podcast)
Genre: Body Horror, Gore, M/M, Romantic Heart Eating
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-01
Updated: 2020-05-01
Packaged: 2021-03-02 05:33:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,172
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23939953
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/imperialhare/pseuds/imperialhare
Summary: Samot dreams, sometimes, of other lives he has lead. The memory of a god is just as malleable as the world that is shaped by their will.Samot entrusts his body and heart to Samothes, sometimes more literally than others. [More detailed warnings in beginning of work notes.]
Relationships: Samot/Samothes (Friends at the Table)
Comments: 7
Kudos: 17





	my whole body is your home

**Author's Note:**

> Yes, once again I wrote heart-eating fic, except this time Samothes does the heart eating! Title is from You by Pearl and the Beard. This has been sitting in my gdrive since 2018 and every part of it got re-written like 3 times so I'm glad to finally have it off my plate,
> 
> Thank you to Finch and Danny for helping read it over and providing encouragement!!
> 
> Extended Warnings: vore/cannibalism, allusions to breaking bones and skinning animals, and being romantically hunted and killed by your husband. Everything is consensual and they are gods so nothing is permanent. Tone is dream-like so pain and injury aren't overly dwelt on.

Samot dreams, sometimes, of other lives he has lead. The memory of a god is just as malleable as the world that is shaped by their will.

The stage is set in an ancient forest that rises above a world of mist.

.

It was the highest indulgence for a god, to forget — to forget responsibility and history, and to allow himself to be mindless, for a while. He can feel his heart pounding in his chest, the blood singing in his veins as he runs through the ancient wood, paws crunching the dead brush underneath. How quick he is, and how powerful. Somewhere unseen, a hunter gives chase — and Samot can tell he is keeping pace when an arrow whistles past his ear, missing its mark only by a hair. Not yet. But still, any ordinary man would have lost his quarry long ago. _His_ hunter is quick, and clever.

_Of course he is,_ Samot thinks, so lovingly.

The next arrow comes as Samot sprints across a clearing, and lands heavy in his side. He barely feels the puncture through the adrenaline, but he does feel the lancing pain as he tries to make the next jump, and stumbles to a halt before he falls over, his body barely making an impact in the soft grass. His hunter is there in hardly a moment, his tall figure casting a long shadow over Samot's prone form.

“That's enough,” Samothes says, his mouth set in a grim line. He kneels and examines the wound carefully — examines Samot carefully, but with the briskness of someone merely looking over the body of an animal. When his hands wander near Samot's mouth he snaps at him, although the threat of his flashing teeth is mostly hollow. Samothes frowns as he pulls the arrow from Samot’s flesh and loosely bandages the wound.

“Are you going to transform back?” Samothes asks.

Samot pulls his lips back to reveal a predator’s sharpened teeth, but no makes no other effort to move. “No.”

Samothes sighs, leaves Samot there on the ground. He sets down his tools and begin to prepare a campsite.

“You lose yourself, when you’re like this,” Samothes says, unpacking his bag. There are gashes on his arm, no older than a few hours. Samot’s doing. “You lose control over the violence that’s in you.”

Samot doesn’t respond.

In silence he watches Samothes line the hole he dug with stones and light the fire. Methodical work. Samot loves watching him, when he’s focused. He wants Samothes to break his body apart like that — with concentration, and oh yes, with love. To slice him open and gut him clean. To clean his skin and make his fur into a cloak, his bones into soup, his flesh into food... How Samot adores him. How he wants to be so close to Samothes that their flesh becomes the same flesh.

"I know what you want, Samot," Samothes murmurs. The curve of his hunting knife has a wicked gleam in the light of the fire. Samot's heart pounds as Samothes pulls his chin upwards and feels for the pulse in his neck.

"Show me," Samot says, and Samothes slits his throat.

.

Samot begins to dream.

He might be a wolf, or a man — he is always a wolf, it doesn’t matter. Samothes stands over him with a dagger and presses his face into the fur of his neck, lovingly running his free hand over his body. Samot can’t find the words to tell him how much he wants Samothes to take him apart in the most literal sense, to make use of him, to do with Samot’s body what he does with his tools — oh, king-god, always inventing, always crafting. The way his hands and his magic shape the metal on his forge is love as much as it is work, Samot knows that.

_I’ll nourish you. I’ll keep you warm._

“I know,” Samothes says.

He cuts Samot open with the dagger, from sternum to abdomen, one clean motion. The blade slices almost effortlessly through bone. The sensation is curiously painless, although Samot’s heart beats faster, like the anticipation of being held by a lover. He moans when Samothes folds flesh and bone back as easily as if they were the petals of a flower, and just as beautiful, from the expression on his face — fascination, love, care. The focus of a master craftsman doing delicate work.

Samot wonders, deliriously, as Samothes opens up his ribcage, if he even has a human heart inside his chest. That maybe all that rests there is the shadow he used to be, compressed into a dense shard and placed in quarantine by the body Samol made for him. The violence in him that makes him awaken in the dark hours of the night, a craving for destruction on his tongue like dust in his mouth.

_Wait! Don’t look!_

He opens his mouth to speak but little more than a gasp comes out. Samothes pauses, but not soon enough, Samot knows that he has seen, and dreads his reaction—

“A beating heart, just like any other,” Samothes tells him. His voice is gentle. Samot finally gathers the courage to look into the open cavity of his own chest, to see the evidence of his own humanity — indeed a heart rests there, pulsating with the movement of his blood. In the light of the dream it seems red and translucent as a ruby.

“Oh,” Samot says, softly. Warmth suffuses him from where Samothes places his hand around his heart, gently holding it — holding him.

“I shouldn’t have doubted,” Samot continues, almost startled by the sound of his own voice speaking. “How could I give you my heart unless I had one to give?”

Samothes smiles, gently pulls Samot's heart closer to him (Samot's pulse quickening) and cuts it loose from his chest with the dagger in his other hand. The organ is jewel-bright in his grasp, warm and still beating, Samot can feel it beating, even separated from his body like this. He sighs when Samothes brings it to his lips and kisses it, feeling utterly cared for — only Samothes could see him like this, have him like this, bared open and vulnerable — this is his own little rebellion against Nothing, giving himself to Samothes like this. Could a mere shard of entropy feel such deep love, could a shadow be so material as to shed his fur coat and give it to his husband to keep warm? Could Nothing give the King-God a meal to eat?

“Samothes,” Samot says. “Please—”

Samothes bites into the severed heart he holds in his hand.

Samot moans, loud. The sensation of such intimacy is so unbearably erotic to Samot that he can’t help but moan and writhe where he lies on the operating table, overcome, almost heedless of how his flesh is pinned open — he gasps out Samothes’ name on a shuddering breath, his body is overwhelmed with love, love, how much he wants this, wants Samothes—

Curious that a muscle that works as hard as the heart does would yield so easily to human teeth. Samothes takes his bloody mouth away from soft flesh and swallows. There is something dazed in his expression too, as if the act of eating could be just as overwhelming as the act of being eaten.

“Oh,” Samothes breathes.

And because Samothes understands the gift that he’s been given, he finishes the heart in careful bites, each carefully torn off and swallowed whole. Samot’s love for him is so deep, so vicious that it could kill him like poison. Samot knows this. He watches Samothes through the haze of overpowering waves of pleasure as Samothes eats until he’s left with only bloody hands and the sight of the empty cavity in Samot’s chest.

Samot wonders what it must feel like, if Samothes can feel Samot’s heart pulsing alongside his own. He can see how Samothes lets out shuddering breaths, as if he were trying to keep himself from being utterly overwhelmed.

“What do you feel?” Samot asks.

“I feel what you feel,” Samothes replies.

He says it with such certainty that it must be true. Does Samothes feel, then, the strength of Samot’s love for him, as elemental as a force of nature?

“Then, do you understand what I want?”

“Yes.”

“Will you do it?”

_Consume me entirely. I can’t be satisfied unless you do._

“Then there won’t be any of you left to love me as you do.”

“I’ll love you from inside your stomach. I’ll love you from your skin and bones.”

Samothes fixes him with a gaze so heated as to be feverish. His chest heaves with heavy breaths, but Samot knows that his beloved can bear the weight of his love, even if it would fill every ounce of him with unbearable light. There is no one but Samothes who can.

“Then I will,” Samothes replies in a ragged voice. And he seizes the two halves of Samot’s open ribcage and pulls them open wide — how sweet is the sensation of splintering bone — and plunges his hands into the meat of Samot's empty chest like he could turn him inside-out. His body, all for Samothes. Clarity pierces through Samot's ecstasy like a hunter's arrow, that no love could ever be as true as the bond between him and Samothes right now, which transcends flesh, transcends body, transcends divinity, and they will consummate it here—

“Look,” Samothes growls. Through the haze of pleasure, Samot looks.

Inside his empty chest, something new is growing.

.

Samot wakes up. Distantly, he can hear the trill of birdsong.

The ambient magic in the air of Hieron sizzles with the evidence of divine work. Samot rises slowly, picks through muddled thoughts and memories, trying to reorient himself. Sunlight hits his face where it filters through the leaves above, warming his skin.

The arrow — his hand goes to his side, but there is no pain nor scar there. Then, his heart — he presses his palm to his chest and feels his pulse underneath, ordinary. How frustratingly whole he is. Samot doesn’t care to preserve a mundane bruise but a scar left by his husband’s knife would be as well as holy to him.

Beneath him, a white fur cloak is laid out on the forest floor. His fur. It could never be mistaken for any ordinary wolf’s. He sits up and pulls it around his naked body, mollified somewhat by the gesture. There is a version of Samothes that must have cut it from the dead wolf, knowing Samot would come back anew.

He looks up when a form casts a shadow over his face.

“My love,” Samothes says.

Samot looks up at his husband, at his outstretched hand. He lets Samothes pull him up, pull him to his chest — Samot looks out at the world to see the forest of mist being consumed by the light of Samothes’ magic, and knows that he is reconfiguring the world so that the two of them may take their place in it again.

“Samot.”

“What is it?”

“You are whole, now, because — no hammer worn perfectly to the shape of my hand has loved me the way you do. No sun I shaped on the forge with my bare hands and hung myself in the sky has loved me the way you do.” Samothes grips Samot’s hands tight, his gaze flickering over Samot’s astonished expression. “No banquet meal, no crown, no throne… I am selfish too, and I want to keep you as you are. I want more devotion than all the devotion you have in your body today. I want tomorrow’s devotion, and the next day’s. If you want to be consumed, then that’s how I’ll consume you. Samot — is it enough?”

Samot hears the concern in his voice and almost laughs — as if Samothes has anything to be concerned about! As if he has anything to be concerned about, when Samot would be his loyal wolf, his king, his beloved, and walk upon the earth beside him forever. And as insatiable a creature as he is, here is a man who will always feed him, and who he will always feed in return.

“It’s enough. Oh, Samothes, it’s so much more than enough. You want to keep me? Then I allow myself to be kept."

As the light of his reconfiguration envelops them, Samot hears Samothes’ laugh of relief, the way that Samothes’ hands hold his own. Samot takes the cloak off his shoulders and pulls it around Samothes instead, swathing his husband in his fur. It suits him, Samot thinks. Samot’s heart and his skin to carry with him.

And then, only brightness. On the other side, they’ll fall into routine — as normal as the routine of a god can be. The moment of indulgence is over. But Samot will see that cloak around his husband’s shoulders, and remember that Samothes’ teeth met his heart and bit in. A love that only he and Samothes could share.

**Author's Note:**

> Find me on Twitter @imperialhare, where I haven't really talked about samsam in a while but please know that my love for them burns eternal


End file.
